Back Rooms, Black Jacks and Bar Brawls
by Waiting for Inspiration
Summary: The enigmatic Ash Crimson, partnered with Chinese thug Shen Woo, require a new companion for the latest King of Fighters competition. They find the enigmatic Karnoffel master Oswald, who brings more than just a new face to the team.
1. Chapter 1: contracts

A fanfic I wrote about the change in the Hero team from King of Fighters 2003 and King of Fighters XI. Shen Woo and Oswald are two of my favorite people ever in the entire KOF saga (Ash… meh) so I figured it'd make a great first piece.

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Chapter 1

The room was dark and unadorned, and like most dark and unadorned rooms, perfect for conducting secret business in. A single overhead lamp hung over a plain, four-legged table, with two wooden chairs across from each other. All it needed was a haze of cigarette smoke and it would be a classic film noir scene. Unfortunately, neither of the two characters in the room smoked. The one on the left did not because he thought it would be unbecoming of him. The other, because he did not want to stand out. The left-seated person, named Ash Crimson, dressed flamboyantly, almost effeminately, which suited his wiry, spritish form well. His hair was whitish-grey, with a black headband parting it horizontally. He wore red pants and a red long-sleeve shirt with white seams. His face was blue-eyed and freckled. Despite his unintimidating appearance, he was a force to be reckoned with, as he had just unseated one of the world's three greatest powers. And he wanted the other two.

The other figure, named Oswald, looked as though he'd be better suited as a miserly CEO or a famous socialite, rather than his current profession. He wore a green, single-button suit with matching green pants, an orange shirt, and a yellow tie, as well as black gloves and a black hat. An odd combination, but it suited his tanned Irish appearance well. His hair was blonde, but barely an inch long, and he wore small, red glasses. The consumer across from him cleared his throat, and spoke in a voice as waifish as his appearance. "So, you wish to join our team?"

"Yes. Ever since I heard of Duo Lon's departure…"

Ash's face tightened briefly. "There was something fishy about him," he thought, remembering the pale, pliant former team-member. "We're better off without his type." Ash stewed in his thoughts for several seconds, until Oswald broke the silence. "I figured I would make an excellent addition to your team, and you seem to be more than able to provide the benefits to make it worth my while."

Almost as if on cue, another figure burst his way through the door. They say that a person's attire and hygiene make a profound, distinct statement about a person. If this were true, this person's attire would scream, possibly aided by megaphone, "I want to punch someone." From the unbuttoned purple shirt with a silver dragon decal to the black jeans with a wallet chain and a greasy rag in the back pocket, the clothes more than fit the tousled blonde hair and dark eyes with seemingly permanent bags beneath them. His name was Shen Woo, and if you mention his name to any thug on the streets of Shanghai, and 9 times out of 10 he will be known and feared by the thug in question. "Yo, Ash, what's up? Who's this guy?" inquired Shen, pointing a thumb to Oswald. Unperturbed, Ash replied, "If all goes well, he's our soon-to-be teammate." Shen Woo eyed Oswald, unimpressed. "Feh, he looks like he should be managing a bank or drinking martinis. He doesn't look the fighter type to me."

Oswald just smiled. "That," he said, "would be a dangerous misconception."

Shen Woo stepped forward, fist raised. "Wanna get it on, then?" He said this not in anger, but in eager expectation, as if he had just suggested a time for a party. Ash cleared his throat softly. "That would be unwise." Shen looked somewhat disappointed, but felt that today was not the day to go against Ash's will. He harrumphed. "If you insist." He walked towards the door. "I'm gonna go find something interesting. Later." The door slammed shut behind him.

Ash breathed a sigh of relief, not hiding his frustration with his teammate. "He's a handful," he said, "But when it comes to fighting, there are few better at it then him." Oswald nodded, but said nothing.

"But," Ash interjected, as though he were interrupting Oswald in the middle of something, "I do need to see some hint of your talent, so I know you're not just leading us on."

Oswald, outside the vision of Ash, silently slipped a card from his suit sleeve into his hand. He stood up, and casually, almost as an afterthought, threw the card with a sideways wrist snap. The card whistled as it flew through the air of the dim room, and buried itself over an inch deep into the wall with a soft thud. Oswald adjusted his tie. "I think you will find my abilities most satisfactory.

Ash giggled slightly with joy. He had found another fantastic fighter. This year was already won for him. He had taken the Yata Mirror. Who knows what he will get his hands on this time around?


	2. Chapter 2: poker face

Chapter 2

Poker face

Oswald was very eager over his latest venture, but also had a bit of chagrin over Shen's behavior. He decided to take matters into his own hands.

Shen had had a good night. After starting and ending a few fistfights, he celebrated his victories by going to the nearest pub, using the money he had taken from the losers and drank hard liquor to the point where the laws of biology, chemistry, and anatomy simultaneously threw up their hands and said "I don't know how! You tell me!" Afterwards, in his imbibed state, he impressed several females (all in a similar state) with some of his more unique abilities.

"Hey, check this out," he said, taking off his shirt. On his back was a large tattoo of a dragon, immortalized in the classic mythological pose: sweeping, lunging, with grandiose strokes. "When I flex, like this, it starts flying." This statement was rather apocryphal, as in reality, the dragon did little more than wiggle. But to Shen and the girls, who were beyond the point of reality, the dragon appeared as much more. They saw it soar through the clouds above, slicing its path through the heavens themselves, rearing its mouth back and bellowing majestically to the cosmos.

It turned them on.

Shen returned the next day to his apartment. After a brisk nap which lasted until 1:30 PM, he got himself a few cups of coffee, and headed to the local gym. He went through his usual routine, lifting and hefting weights, when a familiar, short-haired Irish man entered. He looked thoroughly out of place, with his middle-aged frame and formal suit. He stode to Shen, who was in mid bench-press. Shen, upon seeing his familiar acquaintance, set the weight bar down, wiping his brow. "the hell are you doin' here?"

"I wish to have a small chat with you."

"It's gonna have to wait. Some people have things to do, you know."

Oswald adjusted his glasses. "Very well. I shall wait outside for as long as you require."

Shen finished his set, then deliberately went through the circuit again to see if Oswald meant what he said. When Shen finished and headed out, sweating from the effort, he saw Oswald, still waiting pleasantly as though it had been no more than three minutes. He was shuffling a deck of cards, and masterfully, at that. The cards seemed to flow from hand to hand, a beautiful cadence of red and white. Oswald controlled every movement of every card, and right now he made every card fly in a beautiful four-suit waterfall. Shen, taking insultingly brief notice of this, said, "all right, what'cha want with me?"

Oswald stopped shuffling. His face was said nothing. His expression was so straight that you could use it as a ruler. "Do you gamble much?"

Shen shrugged, "from time to time. Challenging me to a hand?"

"Precisely. A single round of five-card draw poker."

Shen took a seat, and Oswald tossed five cards to Shen and himself. Oswald's face remained the epitome of pliancy. Shen did his best to keep a poker face, but a smile tugged at the ends of his lips, and his hand and arm tightened up. He glanced several times at his cards. "Three of a kind!" Shen thought, looking at the three kings staring back at him, as well as a lone nine and seven. "Shen works his magic again."

Though Shen made an effort to remain calm, it was to no avail. Oswald had experience on his side, and every subtle action was so blatant to him that Shen may as well have had a large neon sign on his back which said "I HAVE A GOOD HAND!" Shen thought quickly. Don't be auspicious. Wait until the second hand. Shen bet modestly and asked for two cards. Oswald saw right through his plan, and simply met his bet, taking two cards for himself. Now, the real game began. Shen's cards were a two and a four, but they were merely bait to avoid suspicion. He upped the ante significantly. "Bet."

"Raise."

Shen was taken off guard by this. His mind began triple-timing its previous performance. "Man, three of a kind is a good hand… but there's a lot that beats it… and he bet so much." Shen remembered Oswald gracefully shuffling the card. "That bastard! He stacked the deck to make sure he'd win! He's just hustling me! Well, he's not getting one cent more from me." Shen folded, eagerly awaiting the straight flush that Oswald was sure to have.

Oswald turned over his hand slowly, dramatically, revealing:

7, 7, 3, J, 5, off suit.

"A goddamn pair of sevens!" Exploded Shen.

"Well, what was your hand?"

Muttering, Shen turned over his cards, revealing the three kings in their full glory.

Oswald couldn't help but release a chortle. "It appears you've been outplayed."

"What do you mean?"

"A strength doesn't lie in a hand, Mr. Woo, it lies in how you play it."

"Are you getting at something?"

"Precisely. You, Mr. Woo, you are the three of a kind: excellent potential. But, alas, you are also Mr. Woo the gambler, who cannot help but let slip a little smile, or an eager glance at his cards. Meanwhile, your opponent could have next to nothing, yet win by letting you defeat yourself."

"And you're some grand master at everything, right?"

"Not necessarily." Oswald put away the cards, put on his hat and collected the money. Shen contemplated these words for a moment. Then another thought entered. "Seems a lot of rambling on he was able to do, after one hand…"

"You stacked the deck, didn't you?" Shen shouted.

"In your favor."

"But you knew what I was gonna do!"

"That is beside the point."

"Gimmie back my money! I lost ten dollars to you!"

Oswald thought for a moment, then decided to let Shen have his way. He fished out a number of coins and bills, giving them back to Shen in a wad.

"That's better," Shen said.

Counting up the money, Shen spotted something else: a card, the ace of hearts, seemingly dropped into the money by mistake. But along the side of the card, there was something else: a thin, crimson stain of blood.

"Oh man," Shen pondered, "Who is this guy?"


	3. Chapter 3: a change of pace

Look! It's Benimaru!" screamed a nearby gaggle of giggling girls.

"Why, hello there, ladies," Benimaru not so much said as let the words waft on the air, and waved a hand carelessly, smiling in a manner so handsome it's a surprise he's yet to trademark it.

And handsome he was, with his long, flowing hair, and his smooth, shining skin. Dressed in a black, ab-showing tank-top and matching pants, Benimaru seemed to be the epitome of style and handsomeness.

"You've made it all the way to the semifinals! You're so amaaaazing!" The girls fawned, speaking in chorus as though rehearsed, the pitch of their voices rising and falling like a sine wave.

Benimaru shrugged in a continually handsome manner.

"What can I sa-hurk!" a painfully familiar hand grabbed Benimaru by the collar, dragging him away (much to the dismay of the girls).

The hand dragging him belonged to the arm which belonged to the body of a fellow teammate. The body was obviously feminine, yet cold as ice in demeanor and persona. The body (who, by the way, is named Elizabeth Blanctorche) was distinctly French, with fair, pale skin and stiff, short black hair. The body was covered by a uniform which looked very suitable for a person of nobility, with stiff velvet pants and a crisp white uniform. In her non-Benimaru-dragging hand, she carried a riding crop. She had a certain air of unwanted prettiness, an aura that said, "regardless of whether or not I'm attractive, if you hit on me I will punch you until your face caves in."

As the two entered the room off-limits to all but them, they were greeted by another persona. This persona was strikingly different than the other two, and indeed most personas in general. To start, his skin was pale, but not a healthy pale. It was a grey, unsettling pale, as though life had long left his vessel. His attire was no less unsettling: his hair was done in a ponytail with lavish (if dark) decorations on the crown of his head, and he was clad, head to toe, in a dark robe with decals of various dragons sewn throughout the outfit. This, combined with his long, pointy fingers that almost looked like spear points, gave him the appearance of a streamline, not a body, but a single flowing mass. As the clincher to his miasmatic appearance, his left foot was bent, twisted inward at an absurd, painful-looking degree. Despite this, he was perfectly comfortable, and could walk or even run (granted, his foot would straighten out a fair deal first) quite well. This strange attire and seeming self-mutilation was no mere whim, for he was a member of the Hizoku clan, where such appearances were very par. Here, however, they were not par, and he looked even more out of place next to the fair French woman and blonde-haired playboy.

"Why do we keep this gigolo on our team?" Elizabeth interrogated.

"Perhaps because he's a skilled fighter, who despite his appearance, knows when to get down to business." Duo Lon responded in a lithe voice.

"'knows when to get down to business'? He was just out there swooning some air headed fan girls! The semifinals are in minutes!"

"Hmm."

"Hey, if it means anything to you, they came after me," Benimaru attempted to defend himself.

"Silence!" Elizabeth corrected.

"Contestants report to the semifinals within the next 10 minutes," came the crackled voice of the PA system.

"Well, that's our cue to leave," went Benimaru, glad to have been saved from the imminent chastisement. The three fighters headed to the semifinals area, but Elizabeth had a bad feeling about the upcoming match. With each progressive match in the tournament, there had been less and less people, and the rules made less and less of a difference. Confirming Elizabeth's fears, the "arena" for the semifinals match was a dark back alley without a single spectator. The only thing there was a small red light which was to go off when the match was to begin.

Across the other side were their opponents, almost as motley a team as Elizabeth's. A Chinese thug, a wispy, gray-haired Frenchman (Elizabeth bore no small deal of chagrin for such a malevolent being sharing the same nativity as she), and a short-haired Irishman with formal clothing. The hero team, they called themselves. By their taking of the Yata Mirror and going after the remaining sacred treasures, they were slowly undermining the power that held Orochi, the legendary eight-headed serpent monster, in captivity for eighteen hundred years. Already, Elizabeth had felt the increasing power of the Orochi. They had to act fast. This was their chance to stop them.

Benimaru looked at his rivals in front of him. Strange that he should call them that, considering that it was Benimaru's team that went by the name "rivals." He did not dwell on Ash Crimson for long; he had spent his fair deal of time contemplating his actions. Rather, he bemusedly surveyed Ash's current team, taking note of the stark contrast between the two. "Business and pleasure," he thought. "One considers us mere obstacles in his way, obstacles which happen to move, breathe, and fight quite fiercely. The other looks like a kid waiting in a long line for something." Indeed, Shen was tapping his foot impatiently, as though his angry demeanor would speed the operating of the fist-sized cherry-red light.

Duo Lon crossed his arms, examining the replacement they had found for him. "I know his type," he found himself saying. "They see their opponents as particularly large checks, just waiting to be fought into submission so they could be dragged to the bank, deposited, and used to fund a mansion large enough to house an entire African nation." He noted Ash staring at him angrily, any trace of waifishness gone from his stature. "Well, looks like you chose well, Ash," Duo Lon considered, as though holding a mental conversation with him, "no use hiding my double-agent nature, now that I'm teamed with your two largest rivals, is there?"

Ash leaned forward. Shen brought a hand down on Ash's shoulder. "Lemme go first!" He commanded. Ash turned, preparing to contradict him, but then figured that the later he goes, the less he has to do. "Very well." Ash took a step back and waived a hand invitingly at his previous position. Shen accepted it eagerly. At the other end of the alley, Duo Lon took the leader position.

A fist-sized cherry-red light flashed.


	4. Chapter 4: know your strengths

I apologize for the painfully long hiatus, especially after leaving such a cliffhanger on the third chapter. I won't bore you with the standard excuses (lack of motivation, lack of time, etc.) but instead, just get on with the story.

* * *

Shen Woo charged forward angrily, releasing a feral scream. Duo Lon stood in mocking calm. Shen drew closer, closer, until Duo Lon gauged it to be close enough, whipping out his fists and catching Shen by surprise.

Except Shen wasn't there.

He had feinted attacking, tumbling behind his opponent as he sensed an attack. Shen, now safely to Duo Lon's back, grabbed his foe by the neck and slammed him into the ground. "I've learned a few tricks!" he roared triumphantly. Duo Lon snapped back up, making a few knife-hand strikes at Shen which were deftly blocked. After blocking a smack from Duo Lon's shoulder, Shen attempted to counter, but then found his face entangled in hair. He spluttered, and found himself being dragged forward. Duo Lon had wrapped his ponytail around his face, temporarily blinding and distracting him. He wasted no time, unleashing a series of blows, flowing from one attack to the next, ending his counter with a painful-looking double-palm to Shen's midsection, staggering him.

Shen was not to be outdone just yet, and made some space between him and his opponent. For several tense seconds, they played footsies, neither one closing the space for fear of it working against them. To break the silence, Duo Lon stomped his foot on the ground. It seemed to sink into the concrete floor, then resurface as Shen's feet, smacking him smartly in the shins, making him stumble, as well as pissing him off. He leapt off the ground, somersaulting forward, swinging his foot around and lashing it at his foe's head. Duo Lon, seeing this coming, blocked it. Shen landed from his vault, using the momentum to spin his other foot around in a hook kick, which Duo Lon managed to avoid at the last second. Then, Shen whipped his body around, bringing his fist in a downward hammer punch that found its mark quite clearly on Duo Lon's face. He slammed to the floor, recoiling from the blow. He was in trouble, and he knew it. He had to bring in someone with a little more power behind them. Rolling backwards, Duo Lon threw out a few more strikes, waving his arms elaborately, but they were little more than ruses. He had to get out. He ducked, sweeping his foot out and knocking Shen floorward, then got the hell out of dodge. In his stead, Benimaru leapt in, primed and ready to go.

Shen, now fairly bruised but unfazed, kipped up, swinging his fist up as he did. Benimaru sidestepped and gave him three swift kicks to the head and gut. Shen did his best to keep his mind straight, but knew he had bitten off more than he could chew. He coiled both of his fists and delivered a strong blow to Benimaru's abdomen, knocking him over. He ran back to his side of the "ring" and vaulted over a trash can, mostly because he wanted to.

In his stead, Ash Crimson came out. He had considered using Oswald to buy himself some more time, but he didn't want to get rusty, and still wasn't sure how much they could trust Oswald now that they were in the semifinals. He clenched his fists; green flame started flowing from his palms. He came out both guns blazing, lobbing bits of flame at Benimaru. His opponent gracefully rolled past the projectiles, face-to-face with their greatest foe. Ash, not to be dissuaded, hit Benimaru twice in the chest, then delivered an upwards blow to the chin, knocking him upwards. Ash followed with a graceful flip kick, green flames trailing behind. Benimaru's back hit the ground, finely singed.

Ash wasn't the only one with powers. Benimaru drew his hand back, a small bolt of lightning arcing into it and infusing it with thunder's power. He twisted forward and landed a solid blow on Ash's jaw, sending the lightning's energy with it. The two went blow-for-blow, and Ash decided that now would be the perfect time to play his first of several trump cards. He grouped his hands next to each other, creating a ball of green flame as large as his head. He tossed it, almost carelessly, and it began incinerating Benimaru, his shirt catching fire and his body and arms getting severely burned. He hit the deck and began rolling to put out the flames, and headed for home. He was stopped dead in his tracks by another lash of flames that bit his back. Benimaru hit the ground, barely moving; he was spent. Elizabeth, furious, began moving out, but a hand kept her back.

"Let me go." Duo Lon's ever-pliant voice inserted.

"But…"

"I'll soften him up for you. Just trust me."

Elizabeth, struck by this act of chivalry from a normally indifferent teammate, let him have his way. Duo Lon charged out, leapt up, against an alley wall, then propelled himself off of it, high in the air, befuddling Ash. Taking advantage of the confusion, Duo Lon delivered three spinning kicks, still in the air no less, to Ash. Ash, getting fairly annoyed, grabbed Duo Lon by the hair and delivered a hook punch, alight with green flame, to his gut. He then found his way back to his team, with Oswald finally joining the fray.

Duo Lon, wary of this new foe, put up his guard, trying to read his patterns, but was drawing blanks. His foe just inched closer, his hands sliding in and out of his suits and pockets. The two were almost face-to-face, and Duo Lon panicked slightly; he wondered if he had just let his opponent slip right into where he wanted to be. But there was no time for second guessing.

Whoosh.

A hand lashed out, stopping inches short of its mark on Duo Lon's face, yet it still stung. Duo Lon felt a trickle of blood on his cheek. Oswald was toying with him. Duo, attempting to not let himself get overwhelmed, began fighting back, but it was useless, the cards found their mark: a gash on the shoulder, a cut on the upper arm, a slash on the chest. The wounds were not very deep, they were made by cards, after all, but they stung, and Duo Lon had already been battered. He had had enough, and collapsed.

Finally, Elisabeth went in. Oswald gave a sweeping horizontal slash, but Elisabeth dashed under it and gave Oswald an uppercut so fierce that he was lifted off of the ground. Her small frame carried great power. Oswald twisted right-side up in mid-air and threw a card downward as he descended. Elisabeth batted it away with her riding crop, and swung her fist at him. They struggled, neither one able to gain ground. Elisabeth thrust her open palm forward, summoning small ice shards and slinging them at Oswald. They did their work, leaving several wounds. "Ice powers," he mused. "This is new."

Though Elisabeth could give a punch very well, she couldn't take them very well, and a few well-placed cards later, she was barely fit for fighting. In a final suicide of an attack, she vaulted toward Oswald, swinging her riding crop down. He saw this coming, quite blatantly, and swung his hand upward, slashing along Elisabeth's arm and chest and sending her tumbling awkwardly, still in the air. Oswald hopped up slightly, met her in the air, and in one painfully long motion, reared a card behind his back and struck downward greatly, gashing across Elisabeth's chest and sending her to the concrete with her teammates.

The match was decided.


End file.
